


We Can Take the World if You Take My Hand

by victoriousscarf



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: After Voldemort's defeat they weren't happy with the purebloods, Alternate 1920s, Alternate Universe - Anastasia Fusion, Alternate Universe - Historical, Families of Choice, Multi, Referenced Wizard Revolution, referenced character death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-28
Updated: 2014-10-28
Packaged: 2018-02-22 23:39:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2525918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/victoriousscarf/pseuds/victoriousscarf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Voldemort was defeated in 1904, the wizarding community of Britain rose up in revolt against the Pure bloods who had supported him. Those who didn’t flee, were mostly killed. The Weasley family, poor but still targeted took flight to New York, only their youngest daughter, Ginny was lost as they fled. Now that their family has made a fortune on the Wizarding Stock Market and things have finally settled down somewhat in Britain, the Weasleys have offered a reward if Ginny is found.</p><p>Enter Harry Potter, a con man with a chip on his shoulder and a new partner with a plan to get that money. He even found a girl with red hair and the right power to pass as the seventh daughter of a seventh daughter. The plan is perfect and everything should go smoothly.</p><p>(Anastasia AU, based very roughly on the 1997 movie)</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Can Take the World if You Take My Hand

**Author's Note:**

> Me: Not gonna start another story until I finish some.
> 
> Me: Whoops I tripped.

If someone had told Harry when he was eleven he would spend hours in his twenties in a library, he would have laughed in their faces and run off outside, to feel the sun and catch bugs. Sirius would have laughed with him, and he squashed that thought viciously as he flipped another heavy old book open, ignoring the dust that seemed to be caught in its pages.

He still wanted to run outside actually.

He sneezed and scowled. One would think these books would have been looked at more recently.

 Someone cleared their throat to the side and Harry tilted his head over to see the librarian that always greeted him with a tiny nod standing there. “It’s almost closing time,” he said, and Harry tried to remember what his name was.

He looked remarkably earnest.

Harry checked his pocketwatch with a small frown. The face of it was scratched. “You don’t usually close this early?”

“No,” the librarian agreed with a faint smile. “But it is Friday and we tend to close early on days when no one is expected to be around.” When Harry remained still, he arched a brow, brown hair curling behind his ears. “That does mean I’m going to have to kick you out.”

For a moment Harry considered him before he shut the heavy book and tried to wave the dust out of his face. “I have to say, I’m surprised these books aren’t used more often.”

“You are?” the librarian asked, eyes disbelieving and he plucked at the bottom of his sweater vest before reaching out to take the old genealogies, clearly prepared to put them back on the shelves.

“Well, sure,” Harry shrugged.

“Most of the people in them are dead,” was the reply, harsh and brittle.

Harry bristled, because somedays the pain was still too close to the surface. “Some of them weren’t bad people—it was insane, what happened after Voldemort fell, not every pure blood—”

The librarian turned back to consider him for a moment. “Perhaps not. But they’re still dead.”

Scowling, Harry pushed himself to his feet. “You might as well leave those out. I’ll be back when you open to finish looking.” For a moment the librarian stared at the books, clearly debating with himself before shrugging and turning.

“Alright, well come along,” he said and Harry followed him obediently toward the front of the library.

“You know, I never caught your name,” he said, enjoying the amused look he got in response.

“Then now’s not the time to ask,” the librarian said, brushing his hair out of his eyes and pointing to the door. “Good night.”

“Why can’t I ask now?” Harry asked, leaning on the main desk until he was shooed off.

“Because after coming in here for weeks, it’s pathetic,” was the reply and moments later Harry found himself firmly shown to the door.

-0-

Much to Harry’s annoyance the library was closed all weekend. He had other sources he could ply for information of course, including the few books Sirius had kept from his family who he had otherwise long since disowned. But he felt like he was nearing a breakthrough on the Weasleys, and would have preferred to push the feeling through to the end.

Instead he sat at a café, flipping through his notes and vaguely watching the people go by around him. He thought he had almost all the information he needed, and how had to find the right girl and get out of Britain.

Soon, he hoped.

A commotion on the street made him lift his eyes and he stared to see the librarian whose name he still didn’t know standing there and crying in the street. He stood in front of a man who he had clearly just run into, trying to explain through his hiccups that he was sorry for running into him. The man the librarian had run into looked rich in that annoying way the wealthy often did, his suit made of proper materials and carefully pressed, and his expression of irritation was slowly melting.

“It’s my gran, you see,” the librarian was saying. “She’s sick—curse damage—and they don’t know what to do to help her, and I don’t have the money to,” he hiccupped again. “To pay for the hospital stay let alone, let alone the procedure to see if they can, they can help her. And it’s just me and her now, there’s no one else.”

Mouth dropping, Harry drifted closer as the aristocratic man seemed to break. “Here,” he said roughly. “Take this,” and dropped several large coins into the librarian’s hands, who hiccupped and nodded, eyes huge as he looked up. “Just, watch out for yourself.”

“Th-thank you,” he said. “I can never, never repay…”

And the aristocratic man looked even more uncomfortable, tipping his hat and quickly walking away from the scene that had taken place in the middle of the street. The librarian rubbed his eyes, taking several deep breathes and trying to physically pull himself together before he headed down the street in the opposite direction, having not seen Harry standing and staring at him.

Harry followed, unsure why exactly it was so important for him to do so.

Except instead of heading for the hospital, or even home, the librarian stopped in front of pastry shop, counting out the galleons he had been given before entering. Jaw dropping, Harry followed him inside, watching him calmly order something hot with meat inside and he was still standing there staring when the librarian turned around.

“That,” Harry started and laughed, the librarian’s eyes widening in alarm. “Was masterful.”

“I don’t,” he said, hands clenched around what must have been his dinner. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He brushed past Harry, who followed him quickly.

“No, wait,” Harry said, grabbing his arm and the way the other tensed, he was surprised he wasn’t thrown to the ground in that moment. “That was amazing. Was it all a con?”

“I don’t,” the man started and deflated slightly, eyes narrowed. “What’s it to you?”

Harry beamed at him. “You’re perfect,” he declared and the librarian’s eyes widened, his gaze shifting from alarm and surprise to pure suspicion. “No, hear me out,” Harry said quickly, still holding onto his arm.

“And what am I hearing out?”

“I have this plan,” Harry said. “And you would be perfect for it.”

-0-

“Partners?” the librarian asked, Harry having led him to another café to start and explain.

“Yeah,” Harry said. “Though, if we’re going to partners, are you going to finally tell me your name?”

Pursing his lips, the other man considered him before nodding. “Neville Langston,” he said, the name coming easily to his lips but something about it felt off, like a well practiced lie. Harry wasn’t certain though, and did not call him out on it.

“Well, Neville,” he said, folding his elbows on the table, earning an arched brow. “You know, about the rebellion, a lot of pure blood families fled?”

Neville’s eyes darkened and he nodded. “Of course. No one stayed that didn’t die.”

“Right,” Harry said, mouth twisted. “A few did but yeah, generally they left. Well, this one family, the Weasleys, they went to New York.”

“The one with the missing daughter,” Neville said. “I’ve heard the rumors they’re looking around to see if she’s still alive.” He frowned. “They’re offering a pretty big reward.”

“Well, they would have to, to get her all the way to New York,” Harry pointed out. “But you’re right, it’s huge. And you’re clearly hurting for money as much as I am. So I saw we find a girl, pass her off as Ginerva Weasley, and get that money.”

“And also get out of Britain,” Neville said.

“Is there any reason you want to stay?” Harry asked and Neville’s eyes darkened. “Thought not.”

“What you’re talking about,” Neville said, hands raised as he gestured. “Is finding a girl out of the whole country, willing to even try and pass as pureblood. She’d have to have red hair because there’s not a lot of dyes or spells that could pass detection, or, you know, the freckles that family has. In,” he cleared his throat. “Pictures and stuff. She also has to be powerful enough to pass as the seventh daughter of a seventh daughter. And, _and_ , willing to go along with this plan.”

“Think of the reward,” Harry said flippantly. “Do you want in or not?”

“You’re actually insane, aren’t you?” Neville asked, staring at him.

“Sorry, do you want to keep conning random men in the street because your job doesn’t pay you enough to eat?” Harry asked and Neville’s face twisted.

“You’ll never find a girl like that,” he told the wood grain of the table instead, his chin tilted down.

“But if I do,” Harry said, leaning forward.

“I’m surprised you’re willing to trust me,” Neville said, finally looking back up. “Just like that.”

“Do you trust me enough to go to New York with me?” Harry asked with a grin and Neville narrowed his eyes.

“Perhaps trust is not the issue,” he said.

“If we find the girl,” Harry pressed.

“Alright,” Neville said, still hesitating but agreeing. Harry held out his hand and after a moment he felt Neville’s slid into his, Neville’s covered with knitted fingerless gloves and Harry gripped it tightly. “We’ll do this, if you can find a girl.”

“Maybe we could hold auditions,” Harry said and Neville’s eyes widened, like he was going to protest the idea just as a yell went up on the other side of the café.

“Get your hands off me!” a woman yelled, shoving the man that had apparently been bothering her back.

“Honey,” the man said, holding his hands up and grinning like it was nothing. “You don’t have to be like that.”

Neville and Harry glanced at each other the moment they both noticed her red hair in the dim light. “Things like that don’t just happen,” Neville muttered.

The man tried to approach her again and there was a flash of pure angry magic before he was flat on his back, coughing. “I told you not to touch me,” she growled and Harry was already up and moving over.

“Things like that don’t just happen,” Neville protested again, following after Harry.  

**Author's Note:**

> This was a story I've wanted to write for a while because someone wonderful did a vid to A Rumor in St. Petersburg with Neville as Vlad and Harry as Dmitri and I was pretty much instantly lost to the idea of Neville and Harry as con men partners. It took me a while to think of how to translate the Russian Revolution into the wizarding world, but considering the early 20th Century was a time of really violent Utopian ideals it made sense that a revolution might follow Voldemort in ways it would not have in the late 20th Century.


End file.
